Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Hey, are you busy?” I almost groan with frustration when I hear Sasha’s voice.
“Kind of, I’m at work.”
“Okay.” She seems sad. Has something happened between her and Tommy?
“What is it? I have five minutes.”
“It’s nothing important. I just need some new shoes and didn’t want to go into town alone.”
“Oh, sorry Sash. I’d come if I could.”
“Yeah.” I hear the smile in her voice. “Have a good day at work.”
“I’ll try.” I hang up and check my voicemail, just in case. Nothing. Zero. Zilch.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Sigh.
“He’ll call,” Tasha reassures me and, on all that is dear to me, I sincerely hope she’s right.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
By the time I’m home with Dillan, I’m in full blown panic mode. His phone is off, I’ve not received one response and I swear I just found a grey hair from all of this stress.
Dillan babbles happily as he sits up between my legs, smacking at his toy drum. My phone never leaves my hand. Why hasn’t he called?
I need to stop this. Dillan needs me right now.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him, but he completely ignores me and continues hitting the drum. Not that I expected him to turn around and tell me he fancies Spaghetti Bolognese with a healthy amount of parmesan. He’s not even on solids yet.
After bathing Dillan and settling him in for bed, I pace in the hallway for a while. This is so irritating. Why can’t he just call me? I know he has his charger with him. He has one in his car at all times, so his phone dying is no excuse.
What if his dad has hurt him? I have no doubts in my mind that he has confronted his father. What if it went completely wrong and they ended up fighting?
What if he was in a car accident on the way? They say don’t drive angry, or did I make that up?
To take my mind off it, I decide to make dinner; nothing fancy, just a pasta bake and some garlic bread. It takes me a while to prepare, but does little to calm my mind.
I hate this!
I hate feeling so useless!
When dinner is ready, I can’t even attempt to eat; food is the last thing on my mind, so I pop it back in the oven to keep warm and head up to bed. Maybe he’ll come home soon. It is getting late after all. Maybe he’s on his way home.
This is ridiculous. How difficult is it to call somebody?
You pick up a phone, dial their number and press ring. It’s especially important to do this when you leave the previous conversation on such a dramatic note.
I wish Mr Weston, aka Stephen, would just burn in hell already. Why can’t he just leave us alone?
“This is all your fault,” I snarl at Caleb, even though I know he probably can’t hear me. I instantly regret it and rub my tired eyes. “No,” I correct on a whisper. “This is all my fault.”
******
I’m not sure how, but I finally managed to fall asleep, I don’t remember closing my eyes, but I know that they did because when my ringtone sounds I feel like someone has smacked me in the brain. My eyes only just peel open as I place the phone to my ear. Then I remember who it could be and in the blink of an eye, I’m wide awake.
“Hello?”
“Gwen,” Nathan says, sounding solemn. “I…”
“Oh my god! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
“Gwen…”
“I thought you were injured, or in an accident… What the hell is going on?”
“I was…”
“How could you be so stupid? Do you have any idea how badly I’ve been panicking?”
“Will you shut up?” He snaps and I can tell by the tone in his voice that his hands are probably balled into fists. “I’ve been arrested.”
Wait… what? “Come again?”
“It’s a long story. My solicitor has only just managed to make it here and get me my phone call.” He sounds exhausted.
I don’t know what to say. “What happened?”
“I… I can’t say right now. This isn’t a private call.”
“Who’s pressing charges?”
“Who do you think?” He bites out, angry at the situation.
If I were a cat I’d be hissing.
“What can I do?” I ask softly, hating the thought of him having to spend the night in a cell. Unclean, cold and small.
“Nothing. Just stay at home, lock the doors and don’t open the door to anyone. Do you hear me?”
Gulp. “I hear you.”
“I love you, Gwen. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t believe that. I can only imagine how he’s feeling. “Okay.” Then I choke out. “I love you too.”
Well… this is a situation I’ve never been in before. I definitely do not like it.
But what else can I do?
My thoughts go to the boxes I have yet to unpack that I’ve placed at the back of my closet. My thoughts then start rifling through the contents. When my thoughts remind me of the one thing I need in order to do something I’d never consider under any other circumstances, I feel physically sick.